


Rebellion at Heaven's Gate

by elaine



Category: Highlander: The Series, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, M/M, highlander historical AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The discovery of an old pulp fiction novel sets Daniel on a quest to find the author, and answers to his questions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rebellion at Heaven's Gate

"Daniel. We finished here yet?"

  
Jack was being unnaturally patient today and Daniel didn't want to risk stretching that patience too thin. But, just as he was turning away, something caught his eye and he turned back again to the battered old table loaded with boxes full of worn and tattered paperbacks. "Just a minute, Jack. I think there's something…"  
  
His voice trailed off as he realised what had caught his attention. Just one of dozens of the old yellow-edged pulp Sci-Fi novels of the late sixties and early seventies that seemed to turn up in every junk shop, but it was the design on the cover that had grabbed his attention. The buxom young woman in vaguely Egyptian-style robes he completely ignored, and the noble-jawed hero, wearing a passable imitation of a linen kilt, barely registered on his mind. What glued his eyes to the poorly rendered and badly worn cover was the sight of the huge metal ring standing upright in the sands that stretched out behind the pair.  
  
"Jack. Look!" Daniel held the book out, his hand trembling slightly with the shock of his discovery.  
  
"Aww… what now?" Jack sighed and took a quick look at the book. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Then he shook his head vigorously. "Nah. It's just a coincidence."  
  
"A coincidence? Jack, it's called  _Rebellion at Heaven's Gate_." Daniel dug in his pocket. It was only two dollars. "I'm going to buy it."  
  
*   
  
"DanielJackson, O'Neill requests that you come to the gate room immediately. We are about to leave." Teal'c's calm face gave no indication of just how pissed off Jack was likely to be.  
  
Daniel scrambled to his feet and stuffed the paperback into his jacket pocket. "I'll be right there." He grabbed his pack and hat off the corner of the desk and high-tailed it to the gate room. "Sorry. I was… uh… busy."  
  
Teal'c didn't react noticeably, Jack merely looked longsuffering and Sam smiled hopefully. "You've found the key to those glyphs on P4X 529?"  
  
"Uh, no." Cautiously, he didn't add anything, but Jack scowled suddenly.  
  
"You were reading that book?  _Dan_ iel…"  
  
"It's interesting. The author really knows the period." Daniel's defence of the book was cut short by the opening of the wormhole and he abandoned the subject with relief. Somehow he didn't think Jack was going to like his conclusions.  
  
*  
  
P3X 771 was a dead loss, at least from an archaeologist's point of view. Sam was conscientiously gathering botanical samples aided by Teal'c and Daniel. Jack was prowling restlessly, keeping watch for danger, though what could constitute danger on a planet that never seemed to have evolved any kind of animal life at all was difficult to imagine. Nobody complained, though. Jack coerced into gathering plant specimens was likely to be even more annoying than Jack keeping watch.  
  
As the sky became tinged with greens and pinks and faded towards darkness, even Sam's interest waned considerably. "I think we could go back now. We can mark it down for later visit by a botanical team."  
  
Daniel brightened. Since there were no animals or insects, air-borne pollination seemed to be very popular here. Even with a generous dose of anti-histamines, he'd been sneezing most of the time they'd been on the planet. He wouldn't have got any sleep if they'd stayed the night and, in all likelihood, neither would anybody else.  
  
For once they breezed through the debriefing and med checks and Daniel headed for his quarters with some relief. At least here, on base, the air conditioning would all but eliminate the worst of his allergic responses. He was seriously considering spending the whole of next Spring underground, except for the necessary visits off world.  
  
Despite his tiredness and still watering eyes, Daniel found himself drawn back to the cheap paperback and its tale of heroic rebellion in ancient Egypt. There was something about the hero, and the style of the writer, that appealed to him. He was far from being an expert but he suspected that this novel was better written than most of its kind. He flipped to the inside back cover and looked again at the rather blurry photo of the author, a young dark haired man with a thin, clever looking face and a long nose worthy of Akhenaton himself.  
  
He was just beginning to lose himself in the story once again when Jack knocked gently on the door. Daniel smiled up at him. "Come in, Jack."  
  
Jack hesitated in the doorway. "We were just gonna drive into town for a meal and a couple of beers. You interested?"  
  
"No, I want to finish this." Daniel realised belatedly that Jack was liable to take offence at his continued absorption in the book and tossed it aside. "Or, I could come with you guys…"  
  
"Sweet." Jack smiled at him, possibly for the first time that day.  
  
*  
  
The meal was good and the company better. Even Teal'c was unusually mellow, after a beer or two, and Sam, for a change, wasn't interested in discussing quantum physics or anything more challenging than the latest game. Daniel, who wasn't entirely sure whether Sam and Jack were discussing football or baseball faded into the background and tried not to look too much like he was thinking about the book.  
  
Back at the base, Jack followed him back to his room and refused to be budged from the end of his bed. "So, tell me about it."  
  
"Are you sure?" Daniel pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked at Jack's craggily handsome face uncertainly. "I mean, you didn't seem very…"  
  
"Yeah, well…" Jack shrugged. "It's just I've never seen you so worked up about anything that was written less than a couple thousand years ago."  
  
"Oh. Well, actually Jack, there's something about this…" Daniel wondered how best to explain his impressions of this book. "The author obviously knows a great deal about ancient Egypt. Some of his descriptions are very… vivid."  
  
"Well that's good isn't it?" Jack sounded doubtful. He must be picking up on Daniel's hesitation.  
  
"Ye-es…" Daniel shifted uncomfortably. His next words came out in a rush. "It's about a man who leads a rebellion against the gods, only the gods are these aliens, you see, and they live inside human hosts and travel through gateways…" his breath gave out. Daniel sighed. "He describes how the alien symbiote is implanted into a host, Jack. It's almost exactly how Teal'c described it to me."  
  
"He told you that?" Jack growled under his breath. "I  _told_  him…"  
  
"I wanted to…." Daniel rubbed his eyes tiredly, remembering the nightmares he'd had for weeks afterwards. "That's not the point. This man  _knows_ , Jack. I don't know how, but he knows about the Goa'uld. And the Stargate. And the rebellion. Almost as much as we know."  
  
Suddenly he had Jack's full and undivided attention. "That's not possible."  
  
Daniel shrugged. He'd read the book almost to the end and still found it hard to believe. "So explain it."  
  
Jack took the book. "Okay, I'll have a look at it."  
  
*  
  
For three days Jack was like a bear with a sore head. Then he turned up at Daniel's apartment late at night with the book in his hand. Daniel let him in with only the tiniest of smirks.  
  
"So, say you're right." The admission obviously hurt. " _How_  did he know, Daniel? The Stargate, I could understand. Maybe somebody from the original team let something slip. That would make sense. But this book was written in…" Jack flipped open the front cover, "…nineteen seventy-one? There's no way any of those guys knew about the Goa'uld."  
  
"I know." Daniel sighed. He'd thought about little else in the last few days. "But somehow he  _did_  find out. I don't see how you could explain this any other way."  
  
"We have to find him." Jack seized on the idea with a palpable sense of relief. "What's his name again? Adam Pierson. I'll tell Hammond about it in the morning."  
  
"He may not even be alive now, Jack. This book was written almost thirty years ago."  
  
Jack shrugged. "We gotta try, Danny boy." He stopped halfway to the door. "I don't think Carter and Teal'c need to know about this, huh, Daniel?"  
  
"No. I don't think so." He could just imagine their reactions.  
  
Jack grinned. "Good."  
  
*  
  
Nothing much happened after that. The SG-1 team continued with their missions, some more successful than others and General Hammond reported very little progress on tracking down the elusive Adam Pierson. Daniel finally decided that it must have been a nom de plume and they'd never find him.  
  
They were all in the commissary, stoking up for an upcoming mission when General Hammond joined them. "Colonel O'Neill, Dr Jackson… may I see you for a moment before the briefing?"  
  
"Sure thing, General." Jack squinted up at Hammond.  
  
Daniel waited, expecting Jack to ask what it was about, but he simply returned his attention to his bowl of Cocoa Pops. "What's it about, Sir?"  
  
"We may have located your author, Dr Jackson. If so, he may just provide more questions than answers." Hammond frowned. "I'll tell you more in the briefing room."  
  
His curiosity well and truly piqued, Daniel grabbed the last bite of his hotcake and pushed back his chair. Jack was ahead of him, and they were out the door before the other two had a chance to ask what it was all about.  
  
In the briefing room Hammond had already laid out a series of surveillance shots of their quarry. Daniel lifted one of them and stared at it in puzzlement. The photo of the novel's author had been a little blurry, but it seemed pretty obvious that the recent photos were of the same man. There was just one problem.  
  
"If this is our guy, he hasn't aged a day in twenty eight years." Jack tossed the photo he'd been looking at back onto the table. "Daniel?"  
  
"I agree." Daniel frowned. "It could be his son or something… or…"  
  
"Or he could be a Snake." Jack looked over at General Hammond. "Are we bringing him in? 'Cause if we are, I wanna be on the team."  
  
"That's not decided yet." Hammond's voice cut across Daniel's offer to volunteer too. "We're waiting on the results of some inquiries into his background. I'll give you my assessment then."  
  
Almost on cue, the phone rang. Daniel and Jack exchanged glances while Hammond took the call. "You really think he's a Goa'uld, Jack? Here? On earth?"  
  
"Could be." Jack shrugged. "Seth did it, and Hathor. There could be others."  
  
Daniel shivered. It  _was_  possible, but the thought of another Goa'uld living on earth sickened him. Luckily, Hammond had finished his one sided conversation and ended the call.  
  
"Well, gentlemen, it seems this Adam Pierson's records leave a little to be desired in the way of completeness." Hammond smiled grimly. "I've given orders for him to be picked up. I think this takes precedence over your mission. All going well, he should be arriving here late this afternoon."  
  
*  
  
Adam Pierson, aka Methos, arrived at the SGC in the back of a military vehicle, handcuffed and blindfolded, and very annoyed. Usually, when things like this happened to him, it was because of Duncan MacLeod, but this time MacLeod was in Paris and wasn't due back for at least a week. Joe was in Paris too, and Amanda had disappeared again, so that left nobody to blame for this except himself, and Methos wasn't aware of anything he'd done that would cause him to be kidnapped by the military.  
  
He'd been flown from Seacouver and landed somewhere in the mountains. That much he could tell by the unseasonable chill in the air and the winding roads he'd been subsequently driven along. Then he'd been bundled into a large echoing space. Soon after that the change in pressure told him he was in a lift, but it appeared to be going downwards rather than up. That was when he started to get really worried.  
  
Finally he was led into a room and the handcuffs were removed. Before he'd finished taking off the blindfold the door was closed and locked. The room held nothing but a bed and a chair and table. Just great. Methos flung himself on the bed and grimaced. He preferred his beds to be a great deal more comfortable than this one. He was lying on the bed with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed when the door finally opened again.  
  
"I don't suppose you'd mind telling me why I've been abducted, would you?" He didn't bother opening his eyes. There was no sense of another Immortal, so that was a minor relief. He ought to be able to deal with this.  
  
"Uh… well, no." The voice was soft, hesitant. Decidedly non-military.  
  
Methos opened his eyes and sat up. "I thought not."  
  
The young man standing in the doorway was flanked by an older man and a tall, well built African-American wearing a beanie. They were all wearing the same quasi-uniform – black T-shirts and army green pants.  
  
"Well, come in. I wish I could offer you a beer, because I could do with one myself right now. But the facilities are a little basic, I'm afraid." Methos watched the effect his words had on the four of them… a woman had followed the other three into the room. She, too, was wearing the same gear. "I assume you know who I am. Please feel free to introduce yourselves."  
  
The woman smiled tentatively at him; the young man grimaced uncomfortably while the older man scowled. The big African-American remained impassive. It was the young man who stepped forward, lifting his hand instinctively, before letting it drop again. "Hi. My name's Daniel Jackson. This is Jack O'Neill, Samantha Carter, and Teal'c."  
  
Methos smiled politely and bowed his head slightly in greeting. "A pleasure to meet you all."  
  
"Let's just cut the crap." O'Neill stepped forward and tossed a paperback novel onto the bed. "What do ya know about this?"  
  
"Ah." Methos lifted the book, trying to cover his annoyance. He'd never quite been sure why he'd committed the folly of having that thing published, but he'd certainly never expected to see a copy of it almost thirty years later. "It was written by my father. I haven't seen a copy of it in years."  
  
"Would you mind telling us where he got the idea for this story?" Jackson had perched on the edge of the table, while Samantha Carter sat in the chair. Teal'c, a name he'd never heard of in any language, stood beside the now closed door, his massive arms folded across his chest. Not one of them looked like they believed him.  
  
"I was only a baby when he wrote it." Methos shrugged fluidly, still more curious than worried. "We never talked about it in detail."  
  
"Well, ya see, that's where I have a problem." O'Neill stopped his restless pacing long enough to throw another glare in his direction. "I don't believe you." He grabbed the book off Methos and held it up with the cover opened to the author's photo.  
  
"Jack…" Jackson seemed to be the only one willing, or perhaps able, to stand up to the irascible older man. "Mr Pierson you do look a lot like the man in that photo."  
  
"Are you saying that's  _me_?" He thought he managed the tone of incredulity rather well. His heartbeat had suddenly accelerated. "That's ludicrous. Plastic surgery can only do so much. My father would have been sixty four by now."  
  
"Or older." O'Neill stopped in front of him. "Sam? Teal'c?"  
  
"I don't think so, Sir." Carter spoke for the first time. She gave no indication of what she was referring to.  
  
Teal'c walked over to stand uncomfortably close. He fixed an impassive gaze on Methos for a few moments then nodded before moving away again. "I concur."  
  
It seemed like O'Neill was disappointed. Methos stifled a sigh of relief with the ease of long practice. He certainly hadn't expected this. Yet it didn't seem as though they knew about Immortals. "Why don't you tell me what you want to know? I'll help you if I can." He tried to look innocently eager, playing the role of Adam Pierson, mild-mannered student to the max.  
  
"Later." O'Neill turned on his heels and left the room, closely followed by the other three.  
  
Methos sighed and lay down again. This situation called for some serious thought.  
  
*  
  
 _A shimmering circle of water, that was his first thought. Except that water lay flat, and_ this  _water was standing upright in a circle of metal. Methos had never been so afraid in all his long life. The two Jaffa warriors stepped into the Chappa'ai and disappeared. Ra followed a moment later, then four more Jaffa. With a hiss the rippling light disappeared and Methos could see the wall of the temple through the metal circle that remained.  
  
"What is it?" Methos glanced at the boy beside him. "Did it destroy them?"  
  
"No." Horus spoke brusquely, and his eyes flared bright with impatience. "It's a gate to the heavens. Ra has gone to receive his tribute."  
  
"Then he will be back." Methos calculated his chances. "Soon?"  
  
"Soon enough." Horus turned to the remaining Jaffa. "_ Jaffa, kree _!"  
  
The warriors drew themselves up proudly, though Methos had learned to detect the fear that underlay their respectful attitude. The Goa'uld might be gods to the Jaffa, but they were not loved by their servants. Methos moved away slightly as Horus gave his orders. If he was ever to escape, his best hope would be while Ra and a third of the Jaffa were gone.  
  
"Come. You will tell me more about your powers." Horus signalled imperiously and Methos fell into step beside the slight figure, ignoring the warriors who followed a respectful pace to the rear_.  
  
*  
  
"You're sure he's not a Snake?" Jack sounded as though he was unwilling to let the theory go.  
  
Sam nodded decisively. "I don't get any sense that is he is, or ever has been, inhabited by a Goa'uld."  
  
"Nor I, O'Neill." Teal'c was equally definite.  
  
"Damn." Jack rubbed at his short hair in frustration. "Then how does he know about the Stargate?"  
  
"It's not so much the Stargate..." Daniel spoke for the first time since they'd left Pierson's room. He'd sat hunched over, deep in thought while the others had discussed the mysterious stranger. "There are ways his father could have known about the Stargate. But  _nobody_  knew about the Goa'uld in nineteen seventy one."  
  
"We didn't let anything slip when we went through that time thing, did we?" Jack looked over at Sam almost hopefully, Daniel thought.  
  
"No. I'm sure we didn't." Sam shook her head regretfully. "It would make things a lot easier if we had. I don't understand this."  
  
"What if he… I dunno… got sent back in time like we did?"  
  
"It won't work, Colonel. If he got sent back five thousand years, he wouldn't be able to predict a solar flare." Sam frowned in thought. "And even if he  _did_  find a way to return... if he's the same man who wrote the book..."   
  
"Maybe he stopped over for a year while he wrote the damn book and then…" Jack threw his hands up with a sigh. "Okay. I guess that won't wash. Daniel? You got us into this. What do you think?"  
  
"I…?" Daniel swallowed his indignation. "I don't know. But I'm sure he's the same man whose photograph is in that book."  
  
Jack groaned. "Well, let's sic Doc Frazier onto him. Maybe she can find out something."  
  
*  
  
 _It had taken him months to travel to the Black Land. As always, he'd taken great care to avoid any chance of danger. Lessons hard learnt over the many seasons of his life had made him cautious, and he would never have undertaken such a journey if not for the reports he'd heard of a living god calling himself Ra.  
  
If Ra was another like him... sometimes the burden of what he was became almost too great to bear; another Immortal might help to ease that loneliness. However, Methos was well aware of the risk he was taking. He had met two other Immortals in his life. One had fled from him in terror, the other had tried to kill him.  
  
He had been a hulking brute, little better than an animal. His strength had nearly defeated Methos, yet in the end, he had given Methos the greatest lesson of his life. From this nameless Immortal Methos had learned how to kill another Immortal. And how to protect his own life.   
  
Thus, his journey, half in hope, and half in fear... Ra would know, of course, as soon as they came close enough to each other. So Methos would have to observe from a distance. Find out what kind of man this Ra was. He was certainly no god; Methos had lived long enough to know that there _ were  _no gods, at least not here in this world, and he had no intention of finding out about the netherworld.  
  
His careful plans were shattered in less than a handful of days. He'd gone to the market to see what he could barter for food and beer. It was no different from any market anywhere in the world; women haggled over a few scrawny chickens, or coarsely woven linen, while naked children swooped and dived between the stalls and mats of the traders.  
  
Methos never relaxed his caution very far, but he felt as safe as he was ever likely to. It was at that precise moment that the noisy babble was shattered by screams of fear. He didn't wait to see the cause, but slipped unobtrusively between two stalls and began to walk away from the direction of the screaming.  
_  
 _They were waiting for him, just past the row of mudbrick houses that marked the edge of the village. Nightmarish figures, impossibly tall and clad in dark, burnished armour and headdresses stood, waiting calmly. One of them barked a command in a harsh, guttural tone that sounded nothing like the language of the Black Land. Two of the warriors lifted what looked like blunt tipped spears and pointed them directly at Methos.  
  
The spears might look blunt, and therefore harmless, but the men holding them looked anything but. Methos didn't believe in taking any more chances that he absolutely had to. He stopped and lifted his hands cautiously away from his sides. Another barked command sent a warrior to his side. The warrior grabbed Methos' arm in an unbreakable grasp; the strength in that large hand was more than human.  
  
There was no option other than to go with the warrior. Methos had to struggle to keep up with the long, swift strides, not something he was accustomed to; not many people, especially in this land, were as tall as he. It didn't take them long to reach a large, fortified building. The warrior led Methos inside and deposited him in a dark room, half full of terrified men, women and children.  
  
That was when Methos felt the tingle of another Immortal.   
_  
*  
  
The tests came back normal. No sign of anything that shouldn't be there. Adam Pierson was a completely normal human being of approximately thirty years of age. Except that Daniel and Jack, and even General Hammond were convinced that he wasn't. Hours of questioning failed to find any chink in Pierson's armour, even when faced with the undeniable gaps in his records. He simply shrugged apologetically and pleaded ignorance.  
  
"We can't keep him here forever, if we can't find anything suspicious." Hammond spoke impatiently, overriding Jack's protests.  
  
"But, Sir… I'm sure there's more to this than…" Daniel met Hammond's eyes and thought better of continuing. Every instinct told him that Adam Pierson was, if not a Goa'uld, then at least an anomaly to be further explored. "Let me talk to him, General. Please."  
  
*  
  
Methos came awake instantly as the door opened. This time it was just Jackson and O'Neill. All the same, he sat up warily. Those medical tests had made him nervous, and not only because he wasn't entirely sure that Immortals were undetectable by modern medicine. When he'd studied medicine at Heidelberg University in the late Eighteenth Century, the subject had been a lot simpler. In the last thirty years medical knowledge had expanded at a rate that was impossible for him to keep up with.   
  
It had been days since he'd been brought here. How many days Methos wasn't entirely sure, since the light in his room remained at the same low level all the time. He knew little more about the place than when he'd arrived, except that it was obviously no normal military base. And Daniel Jackson was no military personnel, though O'Neill and Carter clearly were. Teal'c… Teal'c was simply an enigma.  
  
He got the feeling that his interrogators had got close to the point where, whether they believed him or not, they'd almost given up trying to break his story. Daniel Jackson's expression seemed to confirm that, at first. Behind him, Jack O'Neill looked as dogged as ever. Methos reflected with grim amusement that he probably had Scots blood in his ancestry.  
  
Methos stood and stretched. "I'm getting very tired of this. When are you going to release me?"  
  
"When we're satisfied." O'Neill scowled.  
  
"What do you want me to say? That I wrote the book? That's patently ridiculous." Methos fixed his eyes on what he'd picked as the weaker link.  
  
Daniel Jackson's mild gaze was unflinching. "Why don't you tell us who you really are? I don't think you want to hurt us. We just need to know the truth."  
  
The truth. Methos held back a smile. Well, if lies didn't work… "All right. I wrote the book." He lifted his chin defiantly. "Actually, I  _lived_  the book. I was the hero of the rebellion. I threw out the aliens and pulled down heaven's gate. I've seen empires rise and fall, and I've outlived them all. I've lived for thousands of years."  
  
O'Neill snorted, but Jackson's eyes followed Methos' every move. "You were implanted with a Goa'uld?"  
  
"A what?" Methos blinked. He hadn't heard that word in so many centuries he'd almost forgotten it. It certainly hadn't been in the novel. He managed a quick recovery. "You mean the alien creature? Sure. Why not?"  
  
"See, Daniel? It's a waste of time." O'Neill turned away in disgust, but not Jackson. "We already know he's not a Snake Head."  
  
"Wait, Jack." Jackson caught at O'Neill's arm, but the older man pulled free and went out the door. He turned back to face Methos again, showing no sign of being ready to give up. Methos rapidly re-evaluated the relative strengths of the opposition. "How did you beat the Goa'uld? How did you live so long without it?"  
  
It almost seemed like the younger man wanted to believe him, in spite of how fantastic his story sounded. "Dr Jackson, I'm lying. There  _are_  no aliens, no gateways to the stars. My father wrote a novel. That's it." He sat on the edge of the bed. "I just want to go home."  
  
*  
  
 _The youth was called Waset. He still bore the marks on his clothing of the wound that had killed him. Methos had cautiously examined the singed and bloody cloth. Waset claimed that fire had been flung from the staves of the armoured warriors, killing any who had got in the way. He remembered being killed, and then coming back to life, unfortunately while the warriors were still present. They'd brought him here, with the others.  
  
"Am I a god, then?" The dark eyes stared up at Methos, unblinking in their curiosity now his initial fear had dissipated. "But only the Goa'uld are gods."  
  
Methos smiled, reluctantly amused. "No. You are an Immortal, and Immortals cannot die, but they are not gods, any more than the Goa'uld are."  
  
Waset seemed scandalised by this assertion. Methos simply smiled again. Perhaps finding an Immortal so young, and so newly created, was his best chance of finding a companion who would not be a threat to him. It might be better to avoid meeting this Ra, though. Everything he'd seen since his encounter with Ra's warriors made it seem unlikely that Ra would welcome a potential rival.  
  
There'd been no chance to escape, yet. Methos had done his best to distract the youth with tales of his travels and the wonders he'd seen, and told him as little as possible about what Immortals really were. It had been impossible to conceal everything, of course, but Methos had no intention of telling a boy who might still become a dangerous rival the one thing that could kill him. So, no word of beheadings, or Quickenings.  
  
It had worked thus far. Waset was distracted from his fears by the tales, and they were sitting inconspicuously in a corner. Methos kept an eye on the barred door and the guards who could be seen through the heavy grille.  
  
When the door swung open, Methos laid a warning hand on Waset's shoulder. "Don't draw attention to yourself."  
  
The youth nodded his understanding. Methos had made sure to include plenty of cautionary tales in his storytelling.  
  
Four of the warriors came through the doorway and stood to either side of it. There was a small pause while the unhappy occupants of the room turned to face the door and the murmuring faded away.  
  
A slender youth entered, wearing a fine linen kilt and a heavy, jewelled collar. His hair was long and lustrous and his eyes were ringed with kohl. He looked no older than Waset, yet his bearing was confident, even arrogant. He surveyed the collection of captives and they knelt in a rippling wave of submissiveness.  
  
Methos and Waset dropped to their knees and bowed, but Methos caught a glimpse of the youth's eyes as they glowed briefly, before returning to normal. "Is that Ra?"  
  
Waset nodded without raising his head.  
  
Methos swallowed. There was not the slightest hint of an Immortal's presence emanating from_   _that commanding figure. Yet this smooth-cheeked youth had ruled the Black Land since the days of Waset's father's father, and possibly longer.  
  
He didn't have much time to consider his options.  
  
Ra's eyes swept across the bowed heads of his captives and came to light on Methos as he sneaked another glance. They glowed again as Ra's slender arm lifted. His finger, encased in a huge golden ring, pointed at Waset. "That one." His voice sounded hollow, almost echoing, though the chamber wasn't _ that  _large.  
  
Two of the warriors ploughed through the kneeling bodies and grabbed Waset by both arms. The boy struggled, crying out for help but nobody, least of all Methos, stirred. Ra turned and left the room, followed by his guard, and their captive.  
_  
*  
  
"Danny, are you okay?" Jack's hand dropped onto Daniel's shoulder and stayed there, warm and heavy and comforting.  
  
Daniel remained still, his head bowed over an abstract on pre-Dynastic inscriptions in Lower Egypt. He hadn't read a word of it in the two hours he'd been sitting there.  
  
Jack sighed. "We had to let him go. There was no proof, and the whole idea was just too outrageous. Senator Kinsey found out about it somehow and started asking questions. We couldn't compromise the SGC on such a slim chance."  
  
"He was there, Jack, I know he was." Daniel looked up at him at last. "He could have helped us. If  _he_  could overcome the Goa'uld, maybe Sha're…"  
  
Jack lifted his hand and moved away. A moment later he'd pulled up a chair and was seated beside Daniel. "Look, Daniel, you can't read too much into this. Maybe he was there. It doesn't mean the Snakes got him. He might have seen somebody else implanted."  
  
"Then why is he still alive after five thousand years?" Daniel shook his head. He'd been going over and over it in his mind, until his head ached unmercifully. "It has to be that. Nothing else makes sense."  
  
"Sam said no and so did Teal'c. His blood work was normal." Jack shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry Daniel. I wish I  _could_  believe it, for your sake."  
  
"But Jack…" Daniel bit his lip. Jack was right. They all were, but he felt more desperate now than he ever had since Sha're had been taken from him. Something told him that this Adam Pierson knew far more than he had said. How could he just forget about it? But Jack's worried sideways glance made him realise that there was no point in pushing it now. He sighed. "I'm sorry… it's just so… so…"  
  
"I know." Jack's hand curled around the nape of his neck, squeezing gently, then shaking him slowly to and fro. "Let it go, Danny. Let me take you home."  
  
He allowed Jack to pull him to his feet and into a quick hug and kiss, then pulled back reluctantly. "Jack this isn't right… it isn't fair. Sha're…"  
  
"Don't sweat it, Danny-boy." Jack's hands, on his shoulders allowed him to step back to full arm's length, but no further. "You know I'd never try to replace Sha're. It's just… friends, right? That's all."  
  
"That's not what I mean." Daniel knew he could never let Jack know how close to the bone his remark had come. "You deserve more than I can… I  _want_  to…"  
  
"Don't." Jack pulled him back in again and held him so tightly he could hardly breathe. "Don't say it. Don't say anything. Just let me take you home, okay?"  
  
Worn out, dejected beyond bearing, Daniel nodded wearily against Jack's shoulder. It was all wrong, but, like all the times before, he didn't have the strength of will to resist the comfort Jack offered.  
  
*  
  
The ride back to Seacouver was considerably more comfortable than the previous journey, if no more enlightening. Methos was left near one of the more expensive hotels in the city, where cabs could be easily obtained. He hailed one and gave Duncan MacLeod's address. His captors would certainly have the address of the apartment he'd been renting, and he had no intention of ever returning there. He ought, perhaps, to avoid MacLeod's loft, but if the military had followed him in the days before his abduction, they'd already know about it. He was sure they'd wait to see what he'd do next, and what he intended to do was disappear completely.  
  
It really looked like he'd have to leave Seacouver, and probably the United States, indefinitely, but not until tomorrow. In another fifty years this whole episode would be forgotten and he could return. The decision caused him little regret. He'd only come here because of MacLeod and although it was a pleasant enough city, he wouldn't care if he never saw it again. New York was another matter, but fifty years wasn't long in a lifetime that was counted in millennia.  
  
He took the lift up to MacLeod's loft and headed straight for the shower, shedding his clothes on the way. Thirty minutes later, feeling cleaner and more relaxed, but exhausted as well, he emerged in one of MacLeod's bathrobes.  
  
There was an Immortal in the bedroom. Methos stepped noiselessly over to the case where MacLeod kept his spare katana and slid the sword out of the enamelled sheath. A few quick steps brought him to the bedroom door. He flung himself across the room away from the door and stopped.  
  
"I was wondering when you were going to get out of the shower." Duncan MacLeod stared up at him calmly from the bed. "I don't suppose you left me any hot water?"  
  
Methos lowered the katana with a quiet sigh. "I didn't realise you were back."  
  
"Yesterday. I called your apartment; the answer phone wasn't working." MacLeod sat up and stretched. "Want some dinner?"  
  
"Not particularly." In fact he  _was_  hungry, but he had other things than food on his mind at the moment. He answered the unspoken question before MacLeod could ask it. "I've been out of town for a few days."  
  
MacLeod stood up and walked over to him. "So why are you here, if you didn't know I was back?"  
  
"Instinct?" Methos shrugged lazily, knowing that MacLeod was suspicious, but not caring.  
  
"You  _do_  have good instincts." MacLeod grinned at him and pulled him closer.  
  
"Mmm…" Methos slid his fingers through MacLeod's hair, loosened the clasp at the back and wrapped a hank of the long strands around his left hand. They kissed, slowly and thoroughly.  
  
*  
  
Daniel stirred reluctantly against the warmth of Jack's body. His cheek was pressed against Jack's bare shoulder and his arm flung across Jack's chest. There was nothing easy about the comfort that Jack offered him and Daniel sometimes wondered, afterward, why he always accepted it. Tonight he was no closer to an answer than he'd ever been.  
  
A quiet sigh told him that Jack was awake too, and Daniel tightened his arm in a sketchy embrace. "Can't sleep?"  
  
"You too, huh?" Jack rolled towards him and wrapped his arms around Daniel. "Wanna be distracted?"  
  
Jack's hands were large and slightly rough, and gentle on his body. He'd know their touch anywhere, just as he'd know the touch of Sha're's hands from a thousand others. Loving Jack was so like, and so unlike, loving Sha're… two sides of the same coin and just as inseparable in his emotions. Sometimes he wondered if it would have been easier just to take, without caring; if it would have made him feel less like he was being unfaithful to Sha're.  
  
"You're thinking too much again, Danny-boy." And Jack set about making it impossible for Daniel to think at all.  
  
They kissed and touched each other with sleepy detachment for a while, until Daniel's awakening arousal made him squirm. Jack's silent laughter brushed a warm caress over his skin and Daniel wriggled closer, sliding his thigh between Jack's. Jack's cock danced against his, making him light-headed with pleasure as they moved against each other.  
  
Soon, too soon, Daniel groaned in surrender to the quiet intensity of his climax and Jack rolled him tenderly onto his back. "You wanna?"  
  
"Yes." Hunger lanced though him, mocking the release he'd just achieved. Daniel flung back his head, closing his eyes as Jack entered him. His thighs clasped Jack's hips in unspoken need as the slow thrusts deepened, became more and more urgent then shuddered to the inevitable conclusion.  
  
Once again Jack moved him, pulling Daniel around and into his arms, pillowing Daniel's head on his shoulder. He lay there, listening to the thud of Jack's heart until he slept. When he woke it was morning and Jack had already left. Daniel rolled onto his front and pressed his face into the pillow fighting back tears of desperation. He no longer knew who he'd betrayed most… Sha're, or Jack… or himself.  
  
*  
  
Sleep gradually dissolved into wakefulness and Methos yawned as he forced his eyes open. Beside him Duncan MacLeod still slept, his long hair fanned out across the pillow. Duncan always looked quite different with his hair loose. More like the Highland barbarian he'd been born, than the man he'd become over the centuries. Barbaric and sensual.  
  
A sneaky little smile quirked the corners of his mouth and Methos leaned over his lover and kissed him, touching him only with his lips. Without opening his eyes, MacLeod groaned softly. "Again? You're insatiable."  
  
"I sincerely hope so." Methos kissed him again. His hands were framing MacLeod's head, an easy position for the Scot to escape from, but MacLeod instead placed his hands on Methos' chest, holding him just far away enough to prevent Methos kissing him again. Methos smiled enticingly.  
  
"Away with ye." MacLeod shoved gently. "I'm too old for this."  
  
"I can give you four and a half millennia, and  _you're_  too old?" Methos swung his lower body across, straddling MacLeod's thighs. "Lie back and think of Scotland, _old man_. I'll do all the work. As usual."  
  
This last was muttered under his breath, but MacLeod caught the words, as he was meant to. MacLeod's eyes gleamed indignantly. "Work, is it? Ye'll find yersel' out of a job soon if ye don' behave." His Scots accent thickened, as it always did when he was aroused… one way or another.  
  
Methos took advantage of his distraction to steal another kiss and they began to wrestle half-heartedly. After a brief tussle he was on top of MacLeod again, aroused and slightly breathless. "Now. About my terms of employment…"  
  
He kissed MacLeod on the lips to silence him, and then laid a trail of kisses, licks and bites down the tanned chest. MacLeod groaned enthusiastically and pushed his head lower. It was always such a relief to make love with a fellow Immortal. He could let himself go, without any risk of causing serious, or at least  _permanent_ serious damage to his lover. A hint of sadomasochistic thrill? …no bother. Erotic asphyxiation? Simple. Not that Duncan MacLeod was a big fan of such things, but Methos was intending to make a few little suggestions once he'd corrupted the world's oldest boy scout a bit more – in a century or so, if he was lucky.  
  
An over enthusiastic bite just above the dark patch of pubic hair came close to causing a revolt, so Methos kissed it better at great length and then sucked MacLeod's cock into his mouth. That was usually guaranteed to reduce Duncan to a quivering mass of compliance, and it didn't fail now. Gradually Methos parted the trembling, muscular thighs as his fingers crept stealthily upwards to toy with MacLeod's balls.  
  
"Och yessss…" MacLeod's sibilant moan gave no hint of any suspicion.  
  
Methos grinned and sucked harder, causing MacLeod's hips to buck upwards. When they came down again, Methos made his move, sliding between MacLeod's thighs and entering him with a smooth, swift thrust. MacLeod yelped, his head and shoulders lifting off the bed as an indignant scowl appeared on his face.  
  
"You… you…" MacLeod groaned and let his head fall back. His hair was curling wildly around his face now.  
  
Methos grinned unrepentantly. "One of these days you'll actually admit that you like this, MacLeod."  
  
"Huh." MacLeod certainly didn't look very upset.  
  
"After all, I don't see why you should  _always_  be the top. There  _are_  advantages to be gained from being the bottom." To underscore the point Methos withdrew sightly and thrust in again, brushing against MacLeod's prostate with unerring accuracy.  
  
"Oh God…"  
  
MacLeod's nails dug into his back and Methos, pleased enough, bent his head to bite gently at MacLeod's nipples. His fingers wrapped instinctively around MacLeod's cock, stroking it with the same swift smoothness he used to thrust into his lover's body. MacLeod bucked and howled beneath him, his vocabulary reduced to words of one syllable by the ruthless plundering of his body. With a last wordless cry, MacLeod impaled himself on Methos' cock as he climaxed. Methos shuddered as the energy raced through him like a Quickening. With a soft moan he slumped bonelessly across MacLeod's body.  
  
*  
  
It had taken two days for Daniel to make up his mind, and then get the information he needed to track down Adam Pierson. Whatever General Hammond, or Jack, might say about it, he couldn't let this chance go. Another night spent in Jack's arms had only made his determination stronger. It wasn't right, it wasn't fair to Jack to let this situation continue, yet Daniel knew that as long as he was separated from Sha're he wouldn't have the strength to resist Jack's offers of comfort.  
  
It shamed him that he was so needy, and that he should be so unfaithful to Sha're, not only with his body, but with his heart. He loved Jack, yet his first allegiance would always be,  _had_  to be to Sha're. If he could get Sha're back from the Goa'uld then Jack would understand that it was over, and though it would undoubtedly hurt both of them, Daniel would at last be free of the guilt and regrets that plagued him.  
  
The one thing that he hadn't been able to find out was the exact address that Adam Pierson was living at. That didn't matter too much, because if Daniel was any judge, Adam Pierson would have abandoned the place on his return from the SGC complex. Instead he hung around one of Pierson's known haunts, a large brick building housing a martial arts school. He'd seen it in one of the surveillance photos and it had proved easy to find from the phone book.  
  
After only a few hours his patience was rewarded with a sight of his quarry entering the building with a dark, long-haired man. Daniel waited. And waited some more. A group of young men carrying kit bags went in and came out again after an hour, but there was still no sign of Pierson. Two more hours passed and it was getting to late afternoon. Before long it would be dark, and that would make it easier for the slippery Mr Pierson to get away from him. Perhaps he already had, though Daniel had been sure the building had only one exit.  
  
Daniel sighed, weighed up the arguments pro and con, and went into the building. The dojo was on the second floor and he could hear the clash of metal on metal before he was halfway up the stairs. It made him hesitate for a moment, but he continued on, with just a bit more caution. On the landing outside the dojo Daniel pressed himself against the wall and peered around the doorway.  
  
Adam Pierson was there, fighting the man he'd accompanied to the building. With swords. But the most astounding thing to Daniel's eyes was that the figures moving with such swift, deadly precision were both naked. There was a sudden pause as the two men disengaged, and Daniel could hear the rasping of their breath and the quiet slap of bare feet against the floorboards. They circled each other, so intent that Daniel doubted they would notice him unless he walked in between them.  
  
They were using different types of swords Daniel realised. The darker man's looked Japanese and Pierson's like something out of the Crusades. Even so they seemed pretty evenly matched, to his untrained eyes. Pierson grinned and said something in a language that Daniel didn't recognise. His opponent growled and launched himself at Pierson, driving him back across the width of the room.  
  
It ended suddenly, against the far wall. Their bodies, one pale and wiry, the other tanned and muscular were pressed close together for a moment, then with a sweep of his sword the darker man disarmed Pierson. Without hesitation Pierson lunged after his sword and slipped, dropping to his knees. The dark man brought his sword around in one swift movement ending with the blade pressed against Pierson's throat.  
  
Daniel watched in shock as his only chance of saving Sha're seemed likely to be killed in front of him. If he tried to intervene it might only make things worse. Neither of the men was at all aware of him, even though he was now standing in the middle of the doorway, in full view of either of them, if they thought to turn their heads.  
  
Pierson was looking up in to the dark man's face, still grinning. His opponent glowered down at him. " _Now_  will ye yield?"  
  
" _You_  yield, Highlander." With a sudden move, Pierson knocked the legs out from under the other man and pounced on him.  
  
The Japanese sword went flying with a clatter and the two men began their fight anew. At least that was what Daniel thought, until he saw one pale hand slide up a tanned thigh and heard a yelp of laughter from the man beneath. "Fight fair, dammit, Methos."  
  
"All's fair… in love… and…" Pierson's breathless speech was silenced as the Scot kissed him.  
  
The blood rushed to Daniel's cheeks. He couldn't stand here and watch, but if he went outside it could be hours before the pair came out again. "Um… excuse me?"  
  
Two flushed and sweaty faces turned to him with identical expressions of dismay and surprise. Pierson recovered first. "Bloody Hell. What are  _you_  doing here?"  
  
The Scot broke off a curse to look at his lover. "You know him?"  
  
"You could say that." Pierson disentangled himself and stood up. The Scot, even more agile, was on his feet at the same moment. Daniel tried to ignore their rather obvious state of arousal. "He's one of a group of people who kidnapped me last week."  
  
That earned both of them a glare from the Scot. "I suppose you were going to tell me about that sometime."  
  
"Unlikely. I thought it was over." Pierson stared at Daniel. "So, why  _are_  you here, Dr Jackson?"  
  
"I want to know the truth. I want to know how you knew about the Goa'uld…" Daniel's chest tightened.  
  
"What's he talking about?" The Scot picked up his sword and held it in a way that conveyed both casualness and menace in about equal proportions.  
  
Pierson sighed. "Something that happened long before I met you, MacLeod."  
  
Hope stirred in Daniel's mind. It was the first time Pierson had actually admitted anything. Daniel smiled uncertainly. "Will you tell me?"  
  
"I suppose I'll have to, if I ever want to live in peace again." Pierson looked at him measuringly. "Either that or kill you. And I'm sure MacLeod would object to me killing you."  
  
Apparently MacLeod would. He picked up Pierson's sword and turned towards the old freight elevator at the other end of the dojo. "You'd better come upstairs. I think I need to be dressed for this."  
  
*  
  
"How much does he know about us?" MacLeod inclined his head slightly to indicate Daniel Jackson, standing by the window, staring resolutely out of it. He wasn't asking, obviously, about the two of them.  
  
Methos shrugged his sweater over his head before answering. "Nothing. He's guessing and getting it all wrong."  
  
"And you're going to tell him…?"  
  
Methos smiled sweetly. "Nothing. At least nothing important."  
  
MacLeod grunted.  
  
"Go make some coffee. I'll have a beer." Methos gave him a gentle shove towards the kitchen.  
  
Five minutes later they were all sitting around the table drinking coffee and beer in silence. Methos sighed as he felt Jackson's intent gaze on him. And he'd thought Daniel Jackson was the weak link in that place. He glanced at MacLeod for a moment then returned his attention to Jackson. "All right. I  _am_  five thousand years old. More or less."  
  
Jackson's eyes widened and he smiled. "So you were there? Really there? What was it like?"  
  
To Methos' surprise Jackson seemed to feel nothing but curiosity and a kind of awe at his revelation. He shrugged. "Hot. Primitive. The beer wasn't that great. I like my comforts." He took a sip of his beer and leaned back in the chair. "But I'm afraid I can't give you what you want. The… you called them Goa'uld? …have nothing to do with my age." Saying the name made him shiver, even after all these years. He swallowed another mouthful of beer to cover it. "I was already a couple of hundred years old when I got to Egypt."  
  
Daniel's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe…"  
  
"Believe it or not, it's true." Methos smiled gently and saw MacLeod stifle a grin. "I don't remember much before that, but I know I'd been alive for a long time without aging. I can't die, Dr Jackson. Or, more accurately, I can die, but a few minutes later I'll be alive again."  
  
"It's true. I've seen it." MacLeod got that out with a straight face.  
  
It occurred to him, too late, that MacLeod could well be implicated by association. Methos flashed his lover a warning glance. Time to distract this surprisingly persistent young man. "I'd really rather not demonstrate. Dying is just as painful for me as it would be for you or MacLeod, just less permanent."  
  
"Oh… well, no, that's all right." Jackson pushed his glasses back up his nose and looked at MacLeod. "Then  _you're_  not…" he blushed and began to stammer a little. "…you don't…"  
  
"As far as I know, I'm the only one, Dr Jackson." Methos decided to spare MacLeod the dilemma of having to lie outright. "And don't ask me how or why, because I can't answer. I simply don't know."  
  
Jackson frowned. "But you were there. You knew about the rebellion, the Goa'uld. Isn't there anything you can tell me?"  
  
"Not a lot." Methos decided to throw the young archaeologist a few scraps in the hope that they would satisfy him. "You have to understand that most of that novel was pure fiction. I was there, but my memories are… well, pretty vague. I didn't see the alien being implanted, I was told about it." That at least was the truth, he reflected; not that he would have hesitated to lie through his teeth if he felt it was necessary. "The rebellion… it was huge. I was just one guy among hundreds, maybe thousands."  
  
"But…"  
  
He cut Jackson off ruthlessly. "It was a popular uprising, Dr Jackson, if there was any organisation behind it, I wasn't aware of it. Most of what I wrote was based on rumours and hearsay. I'm sorry. As for the defeating the aliens, that was sheer force of numbers. We were hardly a technologically advanced society at the time."  
  
"Are you sure?" Jackson's voice was pleading. "Anything… anything at all that you can remember… they took my wife as a host."  
  
"They took your wife?" Methos felt a chill sense of déjà vu. There were few things now that he truly feared, but the Goa'uld ranked high on that list. Or would have, if he'd ever thought they were still on earth. "Dr Jackson, to my knowledge, the Goa'uld have not been on earth in nearly five thousand years. The gate was destroyed."  
  
"Well, that's not entirely true." Jackson pushed his glasses up his nose with a fingertip. "It was buried. And then it was rediscovered in nineteen twenty-eight."  
  
"Don't tell me." Methos lifted his hand. "Some idiot found out how to use it." Jackson blushed. In spite of his dismay Methos almost laughed at the mixture of pride and embarrassment on the young man's face. "You?"  
  
"Yes. We used the inscriptions to open the Stargate." Daniel's eyes lit up. "It took us to Abydos. There were people there whose ancestors had been transported from Ancient Egypt thousands of years ago, by Ra."  
  
Ra. Methos shivered. "Do you have  _any_  idea how dangerous Ra is?"  
  
"Was." Daniel smiled with grim pleasure. "We blew up his ship."  
  
"And I suppose you thought that was the end of it." It was an impressive accomplishment, Methos conceded, but somehow he knew there was more to come. He glanced at MacLeod, who was being unnaturally quiet.  
  
"The inscriptions only mentioned Ra, and he was the only one the Abydosians knew about." Daniel took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. "I stayed on Abydos, with Sha're. My wife. The Stargate was shut down. Everybody here thought there was nowhere else to go, and the gate on Abydos had been closed." His voice was apologetic. "Then Apophis came. He was looking for hosts."  
  
"I see." And he did, all too well. "I'm sorry Dr Jackson. If your wife is a Goa'uld host, there's no hope for her. I certainly don't know of any way to reverse the process."  
  
"No! That's not true." Daniel met his eyes stubbornly. "I met a woman who'd been a Goa'uld host. She got free of it. There's still a chance for Sha're."  
  
"Then why do you need me? Surely this woman can help."  
  
Jackson shook his head. "The technology she used was destroyed. But there has to be a way. You might know something that could help. You could help us fight them."  
  
"Absolutely not." The harshness in his voice made Jackson blink in surprise. "Do you really think I'd throw away five thousand years of life in a hopeless battle? And even if I was willing to try, the moment I admit the truth about myself to your government, I'm likely to end up on a dissection table being studied for the secret of my longevity. Thank you, but no. I'll stay out of it."  
  
Their eyes locked in a silent contest. When Jackson hung his head, Methos knew he'd won. "I'm sorry, Daniel. I know how you feel. In five thousand years you learn something about losing lovers, friends, wives. Not that it really helps much."  
  
Jackson met his eyes bleakly. "I don't suppose it does."  
  
*  
  
Duncan MacLeod was hovering somewhere behind him. Methos ignored the tingling sensation and swallowed the last of his beer. The fourth… or was it the fifth? He couldn't remember, but he knew he hadn't drunk nearly enough. Yet.  
  
MacLeod's hand reached past him and snatched the empty bottle out of his hand. "If you want to get good and drunk you'll need this."  
  
A large glass, three quarters full of amber liquid replaced the bottle. Methos grasped it instinctively, but perversity being one of his stronger habits, he set the whiskey down on the coffee table untasted and rose from the couch. "I'm tired." His voice had been deliberately free from any hint of invitation, but MacLeod followed him anyway.  
  
He could hardly throw MacLeod out of his own bedroom. Well, he could try, would even enjoy trying, in a masochistic kind of way, but unless he was willing to expend an inordinate amount of energy he was unlikely to succeed. He flopped down on the bed without undressing, hoping against all his experience that Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod would take the hint and leave him in peace.  
  
MacLeod stretched out on the bed beside him. They lay in silence for several minutes before MacLeod rolled onto his side and pushed himself up on one elbow to look into Methos' face. Even then he didn't speak. His long tanned fingers stroked lightly down Methos' cheek and Methos fought back the instinct to either hit him or burst into tears.  
  
"Do you  _mind_?" Methos' voice came out more sharply than he intended and he closed his eyes while he got himself under control. "I'm tired. I just want to sleep"  
  
"All right." MacLeod's voice had acquired that gentle tone that he usually only used to women he was in love with or anybody he felt sorry for. Methos gritted his teeth and started to count silently to ten in Aramaic.  
  
He was almost there, and considering going for a hundred when MacLeod's lips brushed lightly against his own. To his considerable annoyance, his lips parted slightly, clinging when MacLeod began to draw away. MacLeod kissed him again, and cupped his cheek gently with one hand. When Methos made no protest, the kiss deepened a little, though MacLeod was obviously still cautious. Methos reached up and pressed his hand over the top of MacLeod's for a moment.  
  
Still MacLeod didn't speak. Hardly surprising, Methos supposed; or perhaps he'd simply recognised that there was nothing he  _could_  say. After a final caress of his cheek, MacLeod moved his hand down to Methos' waist and left it there while they kissed.  
  
If he was going to put a stop to this, Methos realised, it would have to be soon; but he lay passively accepting MacLeod's small intimacies until well past the point where he should, or could, have backed out. With a little sigh, MacLeod released Methos' mouth and began to trail kisses across his cheek and down his throat. He moved his hand down to Methos' hip and then up again, under the sweater, until it reached bare skin. From that small beginning MacLeod proceeded to lay down a comforting veil of physical intimacy, wrapping it around him like a blanket.  
  
As Methos began at last to respond with quickened breathing and restless movements MacLeod drew back. Methos opened his eyes and stared up at him but didn't speak even now. He smiled weakly, and MacLeod returned it before lowering his head to brush his tongue lightly across Methos' navel. It sent a shudder through him and somehow seemed to soothe his restlessness. Committed beyond all doubt now, Methos finally lifted his hand and released the clasp MacLeod wore, allowing the long dark hair to tumble across his bare stomach and tickle his skin.  
  
MacLeod slid the sweater a little higher, his hands stroking over Methos' chest, teasing his nipples, while he kissed and sucked and nibbled at the smooth skin of his abdomen. Methos did little more than guide the bent head over his body occasionally. Soon one hand had crept down to Methos' waist again. MacLeod slipped the button of Methos' jeans free with practised ease and pulled the zipper slowly downwards.  
  
When they'd dressed after Daniel had surprised them in the dojo, Methos had neglected to find his underwear. Now that simply made it easier for MacLeod to slide his jeans down to mid thigh. Methos even lifted his hips obligingly, to help, then his legs as MacLeod pulled the jeans off altogether. MacLeod's lips brushed against his cock and the soft, shimmering pleasure went a long way towards easing the tension in Methos' body.  
  
He made not the slightest protest when long fingers pierced him gently, or when they were replaced with the thick bulk of MacLeod's cock. Methos pushed the hair back from MacLeod's face and smiled up at him. "You're the best part of me, MacLeod."  
  
If it didn't exactly make sense, MacLeod didn't seem to mind. He grunted softly and pushed deeper, opening and filling the empty places inside. "You mean my penis is." He gave another quick thrust, just to emphasise his meaning.  
  
"Yes." Methos grinned, feeling good again, suddenly. "The best part of both of us. Hey!"  
  
MacLeod ignored Methos' protest as he withdrew. "Why don't you tell me about these Goa'uld?"   
  
He stumbled over the word, mispronouncing it as Jackson and O'Neill had. It suddenly occurred to Methos that Carter and Teal'c had been able to say it correctly and, belatedly the pieces of a dimly recognised puzzle clicked together in his head. He wasn't sure about Carter, but Teal'c, at least, was Jaffa. He should have recognised that sooner. Methos barely repressed a shiver. Inside that man was an infant Goa'uld which would one day need a host.  
  
Suddenly MacLeod's strategic retreat didn't seem quite so annoying. If the Goa'uld were still around, they were a danger other Immortals needed to know about. Jackson hadn't told him much about what he was doing, but it was obvious they come across other Goa'uld as well. During his encounter with them in Egypt, Methos had learned enough about the aliens to know that they'd abandoned one species as hosts when they discovered Homo sapiens, and they would certainly do the same again if they ever found out about Immortals. The thought of Immortals becoming the hosts of preference for a race of parasitic aliens was not something he could ever contemplate with his habitual laissez faire attitude.  
  
"The Goa'uld are an alien race. Some of them lived on Earth back in the days of pre-Dynastic Egypt. They survive by taking humans as hosts." All of this was easy enough, almost academic. But Methos had to steel himself for the next part. "I came across them once. There was a boy, Waset... he'd just become Immortal when he was captured by the Goa'uld. One of them took him as a host and learned about Immortals..."  
  
*  
  
 _"The Lord Horus requires your presence."  
  
Methos sighed, but rose quickly to obey the impassive Jaffa. Horus had retained all the memories of what had happened to Waset, and what Methos had told the boy before the Goa'uld had been implanted into him. He knew everything except how to kill an Immortal permanently, and had no hesitation in indulging his curiosity, or using his knowledge to punish any slight Methos might offer him. There had been some extremely painful 'experiments', none of which, luckily for him, had involved beheading.  
  
Following the Jaffa through almost deserted hallways, Methos reflected on the fact that although the Goa'uld had powers beyond his wildest imaginings, they had absolutely no sense of humour, especially where their egos were concerned. At the moment he was safe, but sooner or later Horus would tire of his new toy, and then Methos would either be implanted with a Goa'uld or, more likely, Horus would attempt to destroy him with the Zat'nuk'atel. It might not work, but somehow Methos suspected that even an Immortal would have problems recovering after being disintegrated.  
  
So far Methos had been able to stave off his inevitable fate by preying on Horus' fear and distrust of other Goa'uld. Horus hadn't yet decided whether the potential gain from revealing the existence of Immortals outweighed the danger of being destroyed by his own race. However Methos was very well aware that when Ra returned through the Chappa'ai, he was bound to find out from his spies just what his son had been doing in his absence. So Horus would have to come to a decision soon. Either way, Methos had no intention of staying that long. It was just a matter of planning, and seizing whatever opportunity was presented; Methos was very good at that.  
  
"Methos." Horus was in full Goa'uld mode; his eyes glowed and his voice seemed to echo in his throat. He was speaking in Phoenician, a language none of the Jaffa understood. "How many Immortals exist on this world? How may we communicate with them?"  
  
"I've already told you... I don't _ know _." Methos answered more sharply than was wise. Always, Horus returned to this question. "Immortals are generally solitary people. I've only met two others before Waset. We didn't exactly exchange addresses."  
  
Horus frowned. "Yet you sought out the boy."  
  
"I'm not really a typical Immortal." Methos shrugged. Horus seemed unusually on edge, and Methos suspected that there would only be one reason for that; the imminent return of Ra. He lowered his eyelids and inspected Horus through the veiling of his lashes. "Why don't you tell me what the problem is?"  
  
The young face was set in harsh lines, and Horus' left hand came up in an all too familiar gesture. Methos braced himself, not that it ever really helped. It was an eerie sensation, more disturbing in some ways than the pain. Methos' knees buckled and he sank to the floor, unable to tear his eyes away from the glowing stone in the centre of Horus' palm. It took all his strength of will, and will to survive, to hold back the information Horus sought.  
  
Suddenly the pressure lifted. Methos shuddered and crumpled to the floor, only distantly aware of the conversation between Horus and the Jaffa who'd interrupted. Something about the peasants... he heard Horus give the order to evacuate through the Chappa'ai with something close to terror. Now Horus would have to decide what to do with him, and Methos was in no real doubt what that decision would be. He wasn't secure enough, yet, to risk exposing his secret to other Goa'uld, so Methos would have to die.  
  
He forced his eyes open. Horus wasn't far away, standing with his back turned to Methos. The Jaffa had already left. Methos reached for the gold statuette that stood on a nearby table. Defying the lassitude that always followed Horus' interrogations, Methos forced himself to his feet and across the small distance separating him from the Goa'uld. The statuette made a satisfying thud against the back of Horus' head.  
  
The only weapon within reach was a ceremonial axe, on the wall beside him. Methos smiled grimly. It wasn't very sharp, but three fierce hacks separated Horus' head from his body. Methos stepped back a couple of paces, dropping the axe as the pressure built. He could feel the tingling, shivering sensation as the hairs on his body stood on end. The last time this had happened, he'd been terrified, but the Quickening he'd taken had made him understand what he was and what to expect when it happened again.   
_

 _As the first jolts of lightning hit him, Methos knew that this was going to be different. Neither the Quickening he'd taken, nor the other Immortal's memories of other Quickenings were at all like this. He was aware of Waset's brief, pathetic memories, and the terrible thing that had been done to him, but beyond that was something more .. Horus, and a host of other Goa'uld seethed through his mind, poisoning him with their memories. Somehow the Goa'uld must have a way of passing on their knowledge and memories, just as Immortals did.  
  
It was worse, far worse, than the sense of invasion Methos had felt when he'd taken his first Quickening. The Goa'uld were so completely alien, and inimical to human life. They didn't share human memories; they took, destroying the host from within. Through the shriek of the lightning, Methos could hear his own screams. When it finally ended he dropped to his knees, retching.  
_  
*  
  
When he'd finished, MacLeod was still lying on top of him, utterly silent, completely still. Methos lifted a twisted skein of hair, toying with it between his fingers. It was oddly comforting.  
  
"No wonder you don't like Quickenings." MacLeod's voice was no more than thoughtful.  
  
He couldn't help smiling. Talk about an understatement. "It wasn't the most enjoyable of experiences."  
  
"What did you do? After..."  _  
_  
"I took Horus' head out to show it to the rabble. Then I lead them to the Chappa'ai and watched them tear it down." Methos stirred restlessly. As comforting as it was to feel Duncan MacLeod 's solid weight on his body, it was getting to be too much of a good thing. He wriggled halfway out from under him and settled down again. "After that I..." he sighed, "...I ran. I couldn't be near all those people. To the Goa'uld they were no more than domesticated animals, potential hosts. I could feel all that inside me. So I went into the Western Desert. That's where Kronos found me, about five hundred years later."  
  
A sharp intake of breath was the only response MacLeod made at first. They'd never really talked a lot about his relationship with Kronos. Of course, MacLeod had taken Kronos' Quickening and would know all he ever wanted to find out about the two of them, if he'd ever cared to look. Methos suspected that he hadn't.  
  
"Is that why you joined the Horsemen? Because the Quickening was tainted?" MacLeod lifted his head to look down at Methos.  
  
It was tempting just to agree, but Methos had the feeling that he'd regret it, sooner or later, if he did. "It wasn't that simple MacLeod." He tweaked the strand of hair he still had twisted in his fingers. "I'd been alone for over five hundred years. Well, alone except for the company in my head. I was quite insane by then. And there  _were_  no Horsemen at that time, only Kronos. He found Silas and Caspian later." Methos shrugged. "It just happened. It wasn't part of any grand scheme, unless it was in Kronos' head."  
  
"That sounds like Kronos." MacLeod looked thoughtful for a moment, and Methos wondered if he was accessing Kronos' memories. "So why  _did_  you leave them?"  
  
That was easy. Methos let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. "I got over it. I think taking other Quickenings helped. They buried the influence of the Goa'uld under so many layers that I could... learn to ignore them. It happened long before I left the Horsemen, I'll admit."  
  
He closed his eyes remembering what that sense of closeness had felt like. Even now, he still missed it. Still wanted it. He hadn't been entirely reluctant to rejoin the Horsemen two years ago, he'd just wanted it to be without all the bloodshed. An impossible dream  _that_  had been...  
  
"We were brothers for over a thousand years, MacLeod. It's not easy to walk away from that kind of relationship. Kronos was my lover. So was Silas, occasionally. What happened with Cassandra helped me see what we were really doing, but even then I couldn't leave. Eventually I needed to leave more than I needed to stay."   
  
Methos glanced at MacLeod to see how he was taking it and was reassured. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod might not approve, but he understood. He smiled. "Feel like another beer?"  
  
"Later." MacLeod reached out a large, elegant hand and pulled Methos closer.  
  
*  
  
Jack was waiting for Daniel at his apartment, sitting in an armchair, his back to the door. "Did you find him?"  
  
"Yes." All the way back, Daniel had been wondering what he was going to tell Jack. The truth, as much as he could; but he owed it to Pierson not to reveal the secret of his immortality. He wasn't sure that anyone would believe it, even if he did tell them.  
  
Jack exploded out of the armchair. "Dammit, Daniel, he could have been dangerous. You should at least have taken me with you."  
  
"Would you have come?" Daniel held up a hand to stop Jack's reply. It didn't really matter one way or another. "I couldn't, Jack. I needed to do this on my own."  
  
The weariness and defeat in his voice must have finally registered. Jack's face softened and he took a step towards Daniel. "Well, you're back. I guess everything's okay."  
  
Daniel detoured past him on his way to the kitchen. It might be close to one in the morning but he needed a coffee. Jack followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, watching him.  
  
"Actually, it's not. In fact it's so amazingly not... okay... that I..." Daniel clenched his hands around the coffee mug and blinked away a sudden blurriness.  
  
He heard Jack move and the mug was taken gently from his hands. Then his glasses were removed and he was pulled into Jack's arms. It had been a long and exhausting day, and Daniel had spent most of the trip home thinking about the future. About Jack, and Sha're. The temptation to relax into Jack's embrace and to take whatever comfort he could was intense. He took a deep breath and set his hands on Jack's chest and pushed himself away.  
  
"I can't do this any more, Jack." Daniel rubbed his eyes till the weariness and tears no longer blurred his vision, then picked up his glasses and replaced them. Something in that familiar routine gave him a little of the strength he needed. "I love you, and this isn't fair. Not to you. Not to Sha're."  
  
If his declaration of love came as a surprise to Jack it didn't show. He shrugged one shoulder dismissively. "Life isn't fair, Daniel, haven't you noticed that yet?"  
  
"I guess I have, now." A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but the impulse faded as quickly as it came. "Every time we're together and I feel happy it's like..."  
  
"Danny, I'm not trying to take Sha're's place."  
  
"I know that Jack. It's..." Daniel frowned, trying to order his thoughts. "When you love someone, you want to be  _with_  them. And I can't do that with you, because the only way I  _can_  be with you is if Sha're..." he choked on the words, unable to say them. "And... you know what's worse? A part of me doesn't want Sha're back, because then I'd lose  _you_."  
  
There was a long silence while he looked everywhere, except at Jack. Then a heavy arm came down across his shoulders and he was steered towards the lounge. He went, stumbling a little in his tiredness, but when Jack lead him in the direction of his bedroom, he stopped, more than a little panicked.   
  
"No! Jack I can't." He realised he was leaning into Jack, seeking his warmth and comfort even now, and straightened with an effort.  
  
"Relax." Jack got behind him and gave him a gentle shove. "You're tired, Danny-boy. You need to  _sleep_."  
  
"Oh. All right. I guess." Daniel stumbled on, allowing Jack to guide him into the bedroom and shove him down onto the bed.  
  
Once again Jack removed his glasses, and then started on his shoes. Daniel lay back, allowing Jack to undress him as though he was a child again. In spite of what Jack had said, he was more than a little surprised when the covers were tucked around his naked body, his hair gently ruffled, and a soft kiss placed on his temple. Daniel opened his eyes to see Jack disappearing in the direction of the lounge.  
  
His wordless protest stopped Jack in his tracks. "What, Daniel?"  
  
"I just..." Daniel blinked at the sharpness in Jack's voice. "Where are you going to sleep?"  
  
"In the lounge. On the couch." Jack gestured impatiently. "Don't do this to me Daniel. If you want it to be over, then it's over. Don't tell me that 'you can't do this' and then expect me to sleep with you."  
  
"Oh." Even though he knew, without Jack ever having said it, that Jack loved him, Daniel was shaken by the mixture of love and pain he heard in Jack's voice. He sat up, drawing up his knees and wrapping his arms around them. "Jack, I..."  
  
Jack had always been so matter of fact, so down to earth about all this. Daniel had just assumed that Jack was okay with the way their relationship was, the way it had to be. He'd thought  _he_  was the only one who wasn't dealing with it. He'd been so wrong. He stared at the man who'd been his lover for the past six months and felt a sickening sense of having failed him so completely that he couldn't understand how the  _Hell_  Jack could have actually loved him.  
  
Already Jack was putting on that familiar mask again. "Look, Daniel, don't sweat it. We both knew the score. It was always gonna end when we got Sha're and Skaara back. It's just happened a little sooner, that's all."  
  
"What if we don't get her back? What if..." Daniel struggled to keep his voice steady. He'd never even  _wanted_  to question that possibility before. Now he had to. He rested his forehead on his knees. "Jack, what if it goes on for  _years_  like this?"  
  
He felt Jack's weight settle on the bed beside him. Jack's hand stroked lightly up and down his spine. "We'll do what we have to, Danny-boy. It's all we can do."  
  
In spite of his best efforts a quiet sob escaped him. Instantly, he was enfolded in a full body hug. Daniel leaned into Jack's chest and felt his heartbeat, steady and strong. Like Jack. He was surrounded by Jack and, right now, he never wanted it to be any other way. Except that in the morning it would be different. It always was.  
  
"I'm sorry, Danny. I wish I could do... something. I can't work miracles, ya know?" Jack's breath stirred Daniel's hair and spread warmth across his scalp.  
  
Something had to be done, and Daniel understood, at last, that he had to be the one to do it. Otherwise Jack would just keep on giving until there was nothing left to give. He pulled out of his huddle and, as Jack released him, pressed a quick kiss against his cheek.  
  
"Yes you can.... work miracles, I mean." He summoned up a weak smile and gave Jack a tiny shove. "Go sleep on the couch."  
  
"Yeah." Their eyes met. There was a kind of relief in accepting the truth at last. Jack smiled. "Night, Danny."


End file.
